


This Was Supposed to be About Sektor, But I Got Distracted

by MajorIndecision



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Outworld (Mortal Kombat)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:26:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorIndecision/pseuds/MajorIndecision
Summary: Erron started: “Where’d you find that damn thing?”Kabal paused for a moment before jabbing his thumb towards the garage. “The robot?”Erron rolled his eyes again. “No, the coffee machine. Yes, the robot, you dumbass.”“Found it near the Lin Kuei temple, dickhead.”--or--Erron and Kabal are good friends. After Kabal finds a broken robot in Earthrealm, Erron decides to bother him about it.
Relationships: Erron Black/Kabal
Kudos: 4





	This Was Supposed to be About Sektor, But I Got Distracted

**Author's Note:**

> There is a much longer part to this story, but I was pretty sure I'd gotten the idea from someone else on Ao3, so I didn't post it.
> 
> It has to do with Erron having Tarkatan DNA thanks to Shang Tsung.

Something was playing on the radio, but that wasn’t Kabal’s primary concern. He seldom glanced away from his work, elbows-deep into some advanced machinery that kept his head spinning and his hands busy. He practically danced around the table when he moved, occasionally using tools to pry something apart, dig around in it, and put it back together. 

The garage was dirty, even by Outworld standards. It was slick with oil and grease, cluttered with tools of all shapes, sizes, makes, and models; half-broken and half-fixed engines and systems laid about the area with their innards strewn about the floor. It was almost artistic, but hard to admire due to the nauseating fumes of fuel.

Luckily, Erron’s mask saved his lungs from inhaling too much. He leaned against the doorway nearby, watching Kabal’s efforts. It was interesting to the mercenary to see his fellow Kano-survivor this worked up, but not an unpleasant sort of experience; after all, technically speaking, Kabal had definitely listened when Erron suggested that getting himself a hobby would help with murderous urges or returning to his less-than-stellar past.

His keen eyes watched the glimmer of light shine against the old, rusted red metal. His gaze flicked up to Kabal, scanning briefly over that intimidating mask. “Can I ask you somethin’, or will that ruin the concentration?”

“You just did,” Kabal grunted. Erron rolled his eyes so hard his eyelids fluttered.

“Are you gonna answer it?”

Kabal leaned back out of the guts of his new project and rolled his shoulder blades, straightening his back with a few pops. With a startled grunt, he pulled a rag off of a (relatively) clean table and scrubbed the blood of the machine off of his hands. “Guess I need a break sooner than I thought.”

He turned to look at Erron, jerking his head towards his home’s interior. “Go on. Kitchen.”

Erron pulled himself off of the doorway and retreated towards the oven. Kabal followed and grabbed a bottle of water out of his fridge; his gun-toting friend had recently jokingly pointed out the lack of alcohol, which had led to a conversation about drinking. The ex-Black Dragon was pleased to find that Black was silent this time.

Impatiently, Kabal sliced through the lid of the water bottle with his hook blade and drank from the hole he’d created. Erron watched him with a sort of bemusement, murmuring “careful not to cut yourself” under his breath. Kabal offered him some of the drink, to which his friend declined.

“Alright,” Kabal hums, idly stretching, “what was this question of yours? Excluding the first one.”

Ignoring the last comment, Erron started: “Where’d you find that damn thing?”

Kabal paused for a moment before jabbing his thumb towards the garage. “The robot?”

Erron rolled his eyes again. “No, the coffee machine. Yes, the robot, you dumbass.”

“Found it near the Lin Kuei temple, dickhead.”

Erron’s gaze swept over the robot before meeting Kabal’s again. “Earthrealm?”

“Yep. It was just laying there in the snow when I found it, looked pretty fucked up. Whatever it was before, I doubt it’ll function again any time soon.”

Erron cocked a brow. “Looked to me like you were fixin’ it up pretty well.”

“Yeah, well.” Kabal turned back to look at the garage. “The problem isn’t the hardware, it’s the AI and shit. I’m good with hardware. Don’t know what the fuck I’m doing if I tried to fix that thing’s head. Pulled out a fuck-ton of fried cards and shit.”

“How much does that weigh?” 

Kabal turned and made a displeased expression at the shit-eating grin he could hear on Erron’s voice. “What?”

“A fuck-ton?” Erron laughed as Kabal groaned and swatted his arm.

“You are insufferable.”

Erron shrugged, slipping his hands onto his belt. He shifted into a more serious standing position—one that Kabal recognized: “You’re heading back to Kotal?”

“Yep. Can’t keep the big guy waiting for too long.”

Kabal smirked. “Why? Does he get angry?”

“Nah. He gets worried.”

Kabal’s expression shifted quickly into shock. He wasn’t very familiar with the emperor’s personality, but after seeing some of his policies, he supposed it really didn’t surprise him that the massive muscular mountain of a man was concerned about his lackeys. He waved it off.

“Well, whatever. See you later, Black.”

Erron tipped his hat and sauntered out. Kabal turned his head and watched his friend leave, tugging the collar of his shirt downwards. With a murmur and a sigh, he ducked back into the garage to salvage more of his new project.


End file.
